The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men Oft' go Astray
by Celebwen Telcontar
Summary: Ethan tries to turn the Scoobies into worthless characters on Halloween, but Janus interviens. What hapens when a Chaos Mage and a Chaos God lock proverbial horns? Please read and review. First chapter 300 words, rating for violence and some language. CT
1. Prologue

**_Celebwen Telcontar: I wanted to create another story, just for Halloween. I don't know when I will update it, but hopefully you will like it._**

**_Balrog: Gaaah! Don't put me in there! Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! You're going to sacrifice me to a mad Amazon! Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh!_**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: But I thought you wanted a part in a story._**

**_Balrog: Not with a Slayer! Don't you know they're just as dangerous as Gondolin Elven Lords and Istari? I'm going to die..._**

**__****_Celebwen Telcontar: (raises one eyebrow) Really? It's just a piece of fiction. Oh, well. Just don't give yourself a panic attack. And _don't set the curtains on fire! _(Winces) Too late. Oh, well. Maybe I should write Balrog into my stories more often. It keeps him from Flaming my stories._**

* * *

On the eve before the Feast of Samhain, a very powerful day in all ancient calendars, the man known as Eathan Rayne stood before a bust of Janus. The god stared at him with his stone-carved face, not betraying his Presence by so much of a flick of a granite eyelid. The Priest of Janus fell to his knees, praying to the bifacial deity, and the god granted his prayers with a glee He hadn't felt in millenia. Janus could read a human soul as well as a man could read letters on a papyrus, and knew Ethan was certain then that this plan would go off without a hitch. Janus kept from laughing, but it was a near thing. If the spell was followed to the letter, the Slayer and her followers would become useless Medieval politicians, the Slayer herself being changed into a vain, vapid princess. Janus couldn't allow Ethan's plans to be fulfilled completely; what Ethan had forgotten (perhaps conveniently) was that while Janus was a god of Chaos, He was also a god of Order, and the balance of the two. Janus took great pleasure in twisting the Priest's own spell against him. The Slayer would be a Princess, oh, yes, but not some doe-eyed useless fairy-tale girl!. And, just to throw some spice into the mix, Janus extended the spell over the mad vampire and the souled vampire, removing the spell from the witch. What a wonderful Feast of Samhain! The Priest stood and raised his arms high above his head, laughing like a madman. He didn't see the glint of amusement in the statue's eyes. He didn't feel the hilarity that Janus felt, about to double-cross his devotee. He didn't know that this would be a night to remember!

* * *

**_Celebwen Telcontar: Well? What do you have to say for yourself?_**

**_Balrog: Is it safe to come out yet? _**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: I meant the curtains, you inverted dragon! _**

**_Balrog: Oh. Sorry. The story's too short._**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: It's the prologue, twit!_**

**_Balrog: I am not a twit! A twit is a pregnant goldfish! I am not a goldfish and I am not pregnant... both of those images are veiguely disturbing, by the way... Where was I?_**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: Sushi?_**

**_Balrog: Oh, yes! And thus I cannot be a twit!_**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: Wonderful debate with yourself there. Please review, people!_**

**_CT_**


	2. Halloween Battles

**_Celebwen Telcontar: Here's the second chapter._**

**_Balrog: Chaos! I like chaos! (Looks over a destroyed curtains and shruggs)_**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: (raises eyebrows) Please read and review, people!_**

* * *

Elizabeth Summers knelt by the children, frowning over their haul: Toothbrushes, floss, cheap toys, and hardly any hint of chocolate. Then, she saw some of their faces change. Morph, into something resembling their costumes. One attacked her, and she held it off with kicks and well-placed punches. Then, all went black for Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

* * *

Alexander Harris was rounding his troop of children, shouting like a drill Sargent, when one of the children became a human-sized cat and ran off. Others had things done to them. Then, he blacked out.

* * *

Willow Rosenberg was leading her group to the next house in their patrol when she saw the children become demons and attack the house's owner. Then, blackness overtook her.

* * *

Cordelia Chase was leading her group of children around, when one of the children rounded on her and attacked her. As she somehow held it off, she felt her mind go blank.

* * *

Daniel Osbourne was driving the van when the blackness took him. He didn't remember crashing into the side of a building.

* * *

Rupert Giles was filing some new books into the library system when he blacked out.

* * *

Liam Callahan, now known as the vampire Angel, was staying at home, having a glass of blood when all went black.

* * *

Drusilla Black, now known as Drusilla the Mad, was singing to her dolls and trying to see what Miss Edith wanted her to do when the doll opened its mouth and a black mist overtook her, knocking her out.

* * *

None of them noticed that their garments changed.

* * *

Boromir son of Denethor found himself inside some metal and leather... thing with glass windows in the front and sides. He tried to shove the side, where it looked to be a door, open, but it wouldn't budge. He finally resorted to smashing the side window with the pommel of his sword then climbed out over the shards, glad he was wearing his chain mail. He wondered why someone would go to the trouble of making such high-quality glass for such a small dwelling. Not even the citadel in Minas Tirith had much glass to speak of, the other windows open to the elements and closing only with beautifully carved white shutters, silver inlay making the famous White Tree of Gondor, and none of the Citadel glass was near this quality.

This crystalline glass was perfectly translucent, not bubbly and varying in width like all glass Boromir was familiar with. He didn't think it was crystal, for one thing it was too strong. Most crystal, unless it was treated in some secret Dwarven fashion, was brittle, and didn't have the dark gleam this did. He picked up a shard, tucking it into the small pack he had been given in Rivendell so he could show the glass to his brother. Faramir always loved mysteries.

A yelling and howling... thing... that looked somewhat like a demented orc, came rushing at him. He lashed out with his sword and shield, smashing the creature back with the boss of his shield before lopping off its head and impaling a second monster. He grinned; this was what he loved doing! The thrill of battle, getting his blood going! He didn't have time or patience for musty old scrolls and sitting listening to complaints from the populace. As a creature yelled at him, he snarled back, impaling the creature's head and lashing up and around, decapitating yet another of them. This one, interestingly enough, dissolved into dirt as it's head was removed from its shoulders. He would deal with that mystery later. He hated mysteries. Give him a good, solid fight, though, and he would be content enough.

But there were too many. He couldn't hold against all of them, and a few were climbing through the thing he had been in, and his position was being compromised. He slung his shield onto his back to protect where he couldn't see or defend, and he grabbed his horn, blowing long, echoing blasts through the settlement.

* * *

Eowyn daughter of Eomund found herself surrounded by small monsters. As one advanced, she kicked it in the face, spinning around and laying about with whatever came to hand, including the miniature sword one of them carried. It was more like a long dagger, and she used it as such, darting in and drawing blood, leaving death and destruction in her wake. It had been a while since she had done any sword work, as being the wife of the Steward of Gondor and the Princess of Ithilien wasn't a position where she could be active very often, and besides, she had learned to heal wounds instead of inflicting them, and preferred doing so.

Lifting the skirts that hampered her movement, she kicked another demon in the gut this time, lashing out indiscriminately with her pilfered dagger. She struggled through the mounting pile of dead before walking off to figure out where she was and how she had gotten here.

Suddenly, though the chaos, a cry rang out:

"Eorlingas!"

"Eomer!" she whispered, hiking her dress up and running to help her brother.

* * *

Lothiriel daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Queen of Rohan, was completely alone. That seemed to be a blessing, due to the madness that was roaming wherever she was. Small orcish things, large demons, a strange man with flyaway blonde hair and a flock of the little monsters as well as what looked like a severely annoyed brown haired woman in a white dress were all walking down the solid black path, the bizarre blonde singing for some reason or other. She looked for shelter and went to the entrance of the nearest dwelling and knocked. The woman inside said something or other, and motioned her inside. Lothiriel went in and thanked her, and the woman looked oddly at her before guiding her over to a chair. Soon, she had a cup of tea in one hand and was staring at the elderly woman who had handed her a strange brown block. The woman ate one, and Lothiriel did too. The taste was exquisite, with a burst of... something sweet and smooth under the rich taste of the brick that was so dark brown it was almost black. The sweetness was too much, though, and so Lothiriel took a drink of her tea. It tasted strange, with a bitter, odd taste to it. She forced it down, having drunk far worse during the War of the Ring.

The woman tapped her own chest, and said: "Tiphanie," then pointed to Lothiriel with a questioning look. Lothiriel supposed she was asking for her name.

"Lothiriel," she said, tapping her chest.

"Lothiriel," the woman repeated, sounding out the name as though she had never heard the like.

Without warning, a horn call came through the house. Thoughtlessly, Lothiriel set down her cup and stood, being compelled by the call. Gondorian by blood, the call of the horn was a cry for help from a Gondorian and would compel all Gondorans who heard to aid the one blowing the horn. She grabbed the first weapon she could lay hands to, a fireplace poker, and rushed out the door.

* * *

Eomer son of Eomund, King of Rohan, jumped as he was approached by a monster. He laid about with his sword, wishing he had a trained war horse, or any horse for that matter, under him. The little monsters were approaching from every angle, making moving a hazard and the path a battlefield. With a deft kick, he sent a monster sprawling, and snatched up its short sword, using it as a long dagger to keep the other creatures at bay with. He screamed a battle cry, and was suddenly joined by a white whirlwind with a long dagger, her long blonde hair streaming loose and a look of fierce glee in her green eyes. His sister was a terror on the battlefield even after all these years.

After their battle was over, they looked about, trying to see who, if anyone, else they knew was here. Then a horn was heard up and down the street. Someone was calling for help. The two siblings ran to aid, laying about with swords and daggers.

* * *

Denethor son of Ecthellion was trying to figure out where he was. It was obviously a library of some sort, though why was there a cage in it, and what were the strange boxes on the tables? He looked into some of the cupboards, and found some strange, short jackets, a box that proved to have a great deal of tea in it, and a storage chest for weapons. He was looking over them when he heard the horn-call, and nearly jumped out of his skin for joy. Boromir! He was alive! Somehow, someway, he was alive! It was a father's duty to help his son, and he was _not _going to fail his eldest son again! He grabbed a sword and belt, buckled it about his waist, thrust a dagger into the belt, and grabbed a sturdy-looking axe before rushing out the door.

Until he got to the doors to the outside. He couldn't figure out how to get out, so he simply smashed one of the ridiculously-expensive-looking glass panes and lea pt out of the building before tearing down the street in the direction the horn was calling from.

* * *

Cordelia, Princess of England and Queen of France, was surrounded. Small... things were attacking her, and though she had been on battlefields, she was not well equiped to deal with a fight at the moment. She kicked, hit, scratched, even bit once or twice until she decided the creature's blood might be poisonous. Beside her was what looked like a wealthy merchant girl with long red hair and a fair complexion plus a very fiery nature. The words that were pouring out of the red-head's mouth weren't any language Cordelia knew, but they certainly sounded rather scathing. They were losing until the man in velvets and silks came up and scattered the creatures. He talked with the red-head, using her language... or maybe she spoke his... it didn't matter at the moment... and stayed with both women until the horn sounded. He rushed them to the nearest dwelling, and knocked on the door.

"Good sir," Cordelia began as the door opened. "Please allow my companion and myself shelter until the battle is won."

"Certainly, miss. Come right in, all of you." The man in velvet nodded to the three people, turned, and ran.

* * *

Faramir son of Denethor was standing on the grass beside a large tree when he heard a woman scream. He ran to the aid of two women who were being attacked by a large hoard of... things. He kicked a creature, knocking its primitave sword out of its grasp, picked it up, and ran a few of them through before aquiring a second sword and defeating the group of... things. The red-haired woman was using enough profanity to make a sailor blush.

"Who are you?" he asked her bluntly.

"Nariel daughter of Belegar of Ithilien, my lord," she answered with a curtsy, her flame-colored head down. He had met Belegar several times, a merchant who traded with Rhun and other far-off places, though he had never met his wife or daughter.

"Your father would be proud of you," he said simply before getting her and the dark-haired noblewoman, who didn't speak any languages he was familiar with, though it souded like she spoke at least ten, off of the path and onto the grass.

Then, he heard it. The call of the Horn of Gondor. He looked in the direction the sound came from, and escorted the two women to the nearest dwelling. The man who answered the door was able to speak with the foreign woman, though, and he left Nariel with her, sprinting down the street towards his brother.

As he reached the place where the horn had been coming from, he found a large number of creatures being flung about by Boromir and a newly-arrived Eowyn and Eomer. He took the place beside his wife, beating the little monsters away. Then, he saw Lothiriel, stainding on the grass, looking shocked and uncertain. Faramir hauled a demon away from Boromir's side, and decapitated a full-sized one that dissolved into dust. For a few moments, there was nothing but shouts, the clash of arms and armor, and the yells of the warriors and the monsters. Then, a long sword joined in, and Faramir turned to find his other side bieng covered by his father. It made no sense to him that both Boromir and Denethor were alive now, but he didn't care. As long as they were with him, that was all that mattered.

They finished off the fight with a shout, then moved to the green where Denethor grabbed Boromir in a tight hug. Then, completely astounding the younger brother, pulled Faramir into the embrace as well, wetting both of his children with tears.

"You're alive, both of you," he rasped. "I am so happy you are alive. Both of you. Faramir, I should never have treated you as I did," he said, hugging his younger son to him tighter and kissing his hair.

"Father, the past is the past," Boromir said, moving his arm so he could embrace Faramir as well. They could hear Eomer and Lothiriel talking. Faramir disengaged from his father and brother to bring Eowyn over.

"Father, Boromir, please meet my wife, Eowyn daughter of Eomund."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my daughter," Denethor said, kissing Eowyn on both her cheeks and her forehead.

"I was over North until I heard Boromir's horn," Faramir said. "There were two women who I was helping. I left them in a dwelling near there." He led his family down the path to the correct dwelling, knocked on the door, and found both the foreign woman and Nariel, who introduced herself and the other woman as Cordelia of France and England, wherever those places were. The two of them seemed to have become friends in the short time during the battle. They found an abandoned dwelling, and, realizing they all needed sleep, told the women to rest, which was almost a battle in and of itself for Eowyn, and the men decided to sleep in shifts. Boromir took the first shift, followed by Denethor, then Eomer and the final shift by Faramir.

* * *

**_Celebwen Telcontar: Did you like it?_**

**_Balrog: It was okay. Here. (Gives Celebwen a wad of burned paper and tarnished, semi-melted metal)_**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: What's this?_**

**_Barlog: It's for the curtains. _**

**_Celebwen Telcontar: Is this supposed to be money? (Looks at money) It's from different times and places. I can't use this! Besides, its ruined! Forget the blasted curtain. People, please read adn review. It will help me get a new curtain._**

**_CT_**


	3. Waking and taking stock

_**Celebwen Telcontar: Sorry for the delay. Anyways, here's the new installment of **_**The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men Oft' Go Astray. ****_Please read and review!_**

_**Balrog: I see you got new curtains. **_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: I sold the semi-melted coins you gave me to a virtual money dealer and replaced the stage with that.**_

_**Balrog: Sorry about blowing up the stage. Wait, no I'm not. It was fun!**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.**_

__

**Balrog: You just did.**

* * *

"Did someone get the number of that bus?" Xander groaned as he sat up from where he was laying on the couch of an unknown house. He looked down beside him and yelled out loud, scampering away from the prone form of Drusilla beside him. Angel was sitting down on the couch across the way, Giles beside him, between both Angel and Oz, all three looking rather bewildered. Cordelia groaned and sat up, her hand to her head.

"Quite a party," she grumbled.

"What is going on?" Xander asked. Drusilla awoke, screamed, began sobbing, and fainted before pulling herself together very quickly. Everyone who was awake looked oddly at her.

"I suppose I should introduce myself," she said softly. She had an odd accent, it wasn't British like it used to be, but one Xander had never heard before. "My name is Lothiriel. I would surmise you all have another person within your mind. My... host, I suppose I could say, was insane and not human. My being here made her partially human, enough to need Human food, be able to be in the sunlight, and to... reproduce, and my mind mended hers. She is resting, coping with all she has done over the years."

"Yeah," Angel put in. "I'm part-human now, and Faramir is helping me adjust. The two of us still need blood for strength and swift healing, but the demon is gone forever." Near him, Giles had one arm about Oz and was holding Angel's hand with a fierce grip, both leaning into Oz as though he would vanish. The Watcher lowered his head.

"I am so sorry for everything I did," Giles choked out. Angel moved to Giles' other side, hugging him.

"You have nothing to appologise for," he said. "It is all forgiven."

"I... I tried to _kill _you, my _son_!" Giles all but wailed. Both Angel and Oz clung tightly to the tall, thin man, giving him comfort.

"It was Sauron," Angel said softly to his new father.

"And you, _alive_, my greatest wish..." Angel looked rather stricken, until Giles held both of them tightly to him. "Both of you, _alive_, me, _sane_, it's a miracle."

"I should be the one apologizing," Oz said self-deprecatingly. "I-"

"Did nothing any of us could stop from doing," Angel said firmly. "I was about to take the Ring to Father when the Nazgul attacked Osgiliath."

"And the Ringbearer?" Oz asked tightly.

"Was fine. Last I heard, he left for the Undying Lands. The Ring was destroyed, Sauron was defeated, and Elessar was crowned. He took up the Staff of Kingship, and made peace with Arnor. The Shire was added as a small portion of the Reunted Kingdom, and was gifted to the Pherianath for all eternity."

"And Sam, Pippin, Merry?"

"All lived long and prosperous lives. Sam married a Hobbit-maid named Rose, and when they were not busy running the Shire, they lived in Gondor and Rose was Queen Arwen's handmaiden. Pippin became the Thain of the Shire, and Merry became the Master of Brandy Hall. They both married, and Pippin had a son he named after me. They became great friends with King Eomer and Queen Lothiriel. I married Eowyn, Eomer's sister, and we had two sons, Boromir and Denethor, and two daughters, Finduilas and Theodwyn."

"Legolas and Gimli?"

"Both lived long lives in Ithilien. Gimli promised to sail to the Undying Lands with Legolas when King Elessar passed. Aragorn married Arwen and they had many children, the eldest of which was Eldarion. After that was Ariel, who married Eomer and Lothiriel's son Elfwine, the twins Gilraen and Celebrian, Lothwen, Isilwen, Elwing, Nimrodel, and Luthien, who married my grandson, Barahir." Oz' eyebrows rose. "And I forgot to tell you, but Mithrandir turned up a bit after you... died."

"Mithrandir?" Oz yelped. "He died in Moria!"

"Apparently it's not easy to kill a wizard."

"Apparently not."

"Buffy," Giles said as Oz and Angel chuckled. "I am sorry if I discouraged your relationship with Angel. He is only partially Vampire, and now is my son, Faramir. Xander, I formally ask your sister's hand in marriage for my son."

_:Say yes, please,: _a voice said in Xander's mind.

_:Who are you?: _he replied in a mental yelp.

_:I am Eomer son of Eomund. The woman you call Buffy is our sister. She was married to the man you call Angel in my lifetime. Will you deny their happiness?:_

_:No.:_

"Sure. Go ahead, Dead... Faramir. G...My Lord Denethor," Xander said after some coaching from his mental parasite.

_:I am not a parasite!: _Eomer snarled after that thought.

_:And were you saying that crazy vampire is my _wife_?: _Xander asked.

_:She is not crazy, nor is she a vampire any longer. Her name is Lothiriel, and yes, she is my wife.:_

"Great," Xander muttered aloud. Oz raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Drusilla is my wife."

"Ah," Oz replied. "Better than being a traitor."

"You are not a traitor," Angel said as Giles hugged him and kissed his forehead. "We have already gone over this. And, in point of fact, there is a drinking song in your honor!"

"A drinking song?" Oz answered, sounding dubious.

"Yes," Angel replied, smirking in his direction. He began to sing off-key, clanking an imaginary mug with Buffy, who joined in with gusto. After the song was finished, and Oz blushing and stammaring that it wasn't in _his _honor but the entire Fellowship's, a rustling was heard and Cordelia stood, straightening out her skirts with the ease of long practice. "Who are all of you? And please, don't sing again. You are all horrible."

"You should hear Faramir and-" Xander started to say, hearing the words in a different voice in his head, and knowing everything the voice, Eomer, knew.

"Remember the blanket incident, brother dearest?" Buffy said to Xander, who remembered said incident, and shut up quickly. Drusilla looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"And what is this?"

"Never mind," Xander replied, blushing.

"Who are you?" Angel asked, bringing the question back to focus.

"I'm Cordelia Chase, Queen C. of Sunnydale High. I'm also Cordelia daughter of Lear. Don't ask."

"Why did you become a Shakespearian character, while the rest of us are from Tolkien?" Angel asked, obviously having fought for control for his own body from Faramir, even though he was still leaning against Giles and giving him comfort.

"Who the Hell is Tolkien?" Xander asked. Giles, now Giles and not Denethor, rubbed his head.

"He is the author of _The Hobbit_, the _Lord of the Rings_, the _Unfinished Tales, _the _Books of Lost Tales_, the _Silmarilion_, and many other stories. Perhaps the word _Histories_ would be better to use." Eomer knew what a Hobbit was, and so Xander did as well, but had no idea why a book would be written on one unless it was Frodo, Sam, Merry or Pippin, but he wouldn't judge where he couldn't.

Suddenly, Willow cursed. "Snyder will _kill _us!" she yelped. "Thank goodness Samhain was on a Friday!"

"Don't worry," Giles said. He stood, Oz and Angel standing as well. "I will make sure he will not yell."

"How will you do that?" Buffy asked.

"Pressure on certain... areas of his life. On another matter entirely, I can call in a few favors and aquire a few horses. Eomer, Eowyn, would you look at some with me to see which ones would be best for warhorses?"

"Certainly," Buffy said, her voice slightly lower than it usually was, probably meaning Eowyn was speaking and not Buffy. "Good warhorses are strong enough to carry a fully-armored knight, not as large as the horses that pull that beer wagon in Colorado, but bigger than racehorses. They need to be agile, fast, nimble and smart."

"Lipizzaners are compact and muscular, smart, agile and strong. Another good breed are Arabians, which are compact and graceful, agile, fast and incredibly intelligent. The Arabian is a desert breed originally bred for intelligence and speed while the Lipizzaner was bred in Europe for dressage. Both are very quick to learn."

"What is dressage?"

"Dressage is a form of movement. If you'll come over to my house, I'll show you some dressage horses and movements."

"Thanks." Xander looked at the other people, eyebrows raised.

"We'll meet tonight at Giles' place around four o'clock," Buffy said. "Cordelia, would you like to join us?"

"I would. Where shall I meet you, Princess?" Cordelia asked, her head high.

"At the school would be great, we can go to Giles' by the school."

"Very good. Thank you for allowing me to join all of you."

"You are very welcome, Your Highness," Giles said with a bow. "Come, and I will escort you to your family's home."

"I know you are British," Cordelia said, sounding a bit unsure. "I... I've got a bit of a craving for tea. Do you have any?"

"I can make you a proper tea when everyone arrives," he said with a smile.

"Thank you." The group disbanded, going their separate ways. Lothiriel went with Xander, staying silent while she tried to soothe Drusilla. When they reached Xander's home, he led her to the basement, where he pulled out the hide-a-bed from the couch for her, being shy even though his alter-ego and hers were married. She smiled sweetly at him before he left for his bedroom.

* * *

At three thirty, they left the abandoned house they had slept in for Giles'. Lothiriel had been fairly quiet. It was obvious to Eomer, who told Xander, that she was deeply troubled. Xander put an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his side. When they reached Giles' house, they sat together on the sofa, Xander holding Lothiriel's hand to comfort and support her.

Giles came out with a large book, and he opened to a page which showed Lipizzan stallions in a show ring, then to a page which showed a herd of Arabians in the Middle-East with their Bedouin minders. "How tall are they?" Xander asked, leaning forwards and looking at the page. "And are the lipizzaners always white?"

"They are born dark and grow grey then white over their lives. They tend to be white before their sixth year, and both breeds tend to be 14-16 hands."

"What is a hand?" Cordelia asked.

"Four inches. A horse is measured in hands from the hooves to the withers."

"Four inches... so four feet to four foot eight... Can you find a crossbreed? The agility, speed and intelligence of both breeds, and preferably uniform in color? They should be as intelligent as possible."

"I'm sure I can, Your Majesty," Giles said with a smile and a slight bow.

"Thank you, My Lord Steward."

* * *

_**Celebwen Telcontar: Sorry for taking so long. **_

_**Balrog: What about the horses? I'm not fond of horses, unless they're food. So succulent...**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: (Glares) I prefer horses to be a means of companionship and transport. You can eat cattle whenever you're hungry.**_

_**Balrog: You sound like one of those annoying poultry restaurants.**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: I do **_**not****_ work for Chick-Fil-A! Please review people, and you will get a free cupon for Calf-Fil-A!_**

_**Balrog: Calf-Fil-A?**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: I didn't want to get a fast-food chain angry at me. Besides, beef is tastier than chicken.**_

_**Balrog: ... Please review, everyone! Or I will serve you an undercooked veal dinner with a blackened and carbonized crust! And no pickles!**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: ... ? Bon appatite. **_


	4. Choosing Mounts

_**Celebwen Telcontar: Here's a new chapter!**_

_**Balrog: Éowyn the Vampire Slayer!**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: (looks oddly at Balrog)**_

_**Balrog: (sweatdrops)**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: O… kay. Please read and review!**_

* * *

Buffy twirled the sword in her hand, clashing it with Xander's in a fierce strike-parry-strike pattern. She was in full contact with Éowyn, letting her mind-mate control her actions in order to learn the ancient Rohirric style of sword fighting. Oz, apparently with Boromir's help, had already set up a quintain for everyone's use in the track attached to the small farm Giles had bought with some funds from the Council, and now was fighting with Angel with longswords and round shields at least three feet across. Oz was wearing a large horn on a baldric, having said that it felt strange not to wear it. Boromir was obviously having a massive influence on the guitar player.

"Come on, Cordelia," Drusilla was saying, moving around the former cheerleader in circles and staying on her toes. "Keep moving. You can't stop in mid-battle; you'll get killed."

"Damnit!" the brown-haired former English princess snapped, slashing with the gladius she held. "Don't you think I'm trying, you damned bloodsucker?"

"Be calm. Anger only makes you less perceptive to your surroundings."

"Calm, my ass," Cordelia snarled in response, lashing out with the short sword in a few overhand chops, all deflected by the former queen of Rohan. "Why am I even here?"

"Because you're one of us," Drusilla said calmly.

"No I'm not! You lot are from some other place, I'm from England! I'm not one of you!"

"You are one of us," Giles said calmly, watching Oz and Angel as they fought and laughed. "You might be Cordelia daughter of Lear, but you are from this place and time. You were one of us before we became who we are now, and you are still one of us. I consider you a daughter, Cordelia."

"I thank you, my Lord Steward, for both myself and my kingdom," Cordelia said, the Princess of England once again taking over.

"And as my daughter, I must make sure you can defend yourself. This area draws evil to it, and you must be able to lead people in a crisis, as well as attack and defend."

"Yes, My Lord," Cordelia said, before turning back to Drusilla. Willow was waiting near the wall for Cordelia to be done with training so she could start. The red-head was reading _The Silmarillion_ as avidly as a devoted monk reading the Bible.

The truck pulled into the old barnyard three miles out of town. From inside, the sounds of neighing, stamping and kicking could be heard.

"Watch out," the driver cautioned. "They've been a mite touchy."

"We understand," Buffy said, opening the door to the stable. She had made sure the stable was clean, and each stall had several inches of fresh hay strewn on the floor plus a full manger and water bucket. Her brother opened the truck's doors, lowered the ramp, and walked in, unfastening the halter rope for the first horse, a bay mare. Buffy walked up the ramp after Xander had led the Arabian mare into the stable, and unfastened a petite grey stallion.

After all the horses were in their stalls, the truck driver left.

"How do they look?" Giles asked. "I only know hunters and polo ponies."

"They're all healthy from a cursory inspection," Xander said, smiling. Buffy looked at Giles.

"Didn't your contact for the Arabians promise to send an unmanageable horse?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, the black stallion we had been expecting was stolen. His owner is a wealthy Afghani who has a minor connection to the Council and has given us the stallion's mother, the bay mare, and his and full sister, that black-point-dun foal, in compensation."

"Black point dun?" Giles asked, confused.

"Dark gold with black points."

"Points?"

"Mane, tail, and legs below the knees."

"Ah."

"The bay brood mare isn't Arabian," Buffy pointed out. "She's too tall and her tail's too low-set. I would say she's closer to the size and conformation of a Thoroughbred, though the black-point-dun filly has more Arabian characteristics, such as the arched neck, concave profile, and high-set tail."

"Yes, well," Giles said, removing his glasses and polishing them, "the horses from Abu Ishak have papers. Here they are." He handed her a large manilla folder with several sheafs of paper stapled together. She went through each one, looking for the mare and the filly. When she found them, the mare was named "Tiamat" and the filly was "Lilith", while her brother, the unmanagable missing stallion, was aparantly all black and was named "Devil".

"I don't know how these papers should look, since I'm unfamiliar with paperwork from this time," Buffy said, handing the folder with the pedegree papers back to her Watcher.

"Should we each choose a horse or two?" Cordelia asked.

"Yes. We'll be incorporating mounted fighting from now on," Oz replied.

Angel ran his hands over Tiamat's coat, the mare snorting and tossing her head. "You're a beauty, aren't you?" he asked her, then whispered to her in Sindarin. Tiamat calmed down, eyeing the vampire's hand as it found her halter. She snorted and tossed her head, Angel replying with gentle noises and running his hand over her cheek. She tried turning her head to look at him, but he moved with her, easily keeping out of tooth range. Eventually, she allowed him to groom her, and Tiamat was officially one of Angel's horses, his other a pretty sweet-tempered grullo Irish Hunter mare. Xander's primary horse was a mare, an ugly pale grey with a small jug head, a ewe neck, an evil temper, and a neigh that was more squeal than whinney. On the other hand, she was incredibly intelegent, which was proably why she kept getting out of her stall. She was massive, at least nineteen hands, and had thick, corded muscles. Her coat was almost pure white, but in the right shade of dusk or darkness, she seemed to shine like silver. Xander was certain that there was a small bit of Mearas blood in the massive, ill-tempered horse, probably very far back. She was intelegent enough, and her coat gleamed like a Mearas'. Suddenly, the vicious mare's teeth closed with a sound like a gunshot on the space Xander's hand had been seconds before. Xander glared at her, locking eyes with the vicious mare and murmuring in Rohirric. The mare backed up until she hit the back wall, baring her teeth in an equine sneer and whistling in anger. Xander deftly created a noose from a rope he had handy, tossing it expertly about the troublesome horse's neck. He pulled the rope taught, hanging on tightly before opening the door. The mare shot out like an arrow, Xander running behind her, using the rope to hold on. She eventually ended up in the inside practice arena, where he told everyone watching to ignore them.

Buffy walked back to the stables after her brother told her to ignore him and the silvery mare, ending in front of a handsome white stallion's stall. He was almost fourteen hands, just over four feet at the whithers, and looked to be pure Lipizanner. He was sweet, nuzzling her gently when she came close to him. She quickly named him Sulnithroch, a Sindarin translation of Windfola, the horse who had borne her and Merry on the Pelennor Fields. She got a bridle and an English style saddle from the new tack room, fitting them on him. He was very calm when she tacked him up, and followed her, nuzzling her back once. She went to the opposite side of the barn from where Xander was training his silvery mare, and rode him around the paddock a few times. Sulnithroch had fluid movement and grace, springing gently from step to step. At one point, she gave him a specific signal with her heels, and was rewarded with a perfect capriole. When she put Sulnithroch back in his stall, she groomed him to within an inch of his life, and the stallion nearly purred, leaning into the brush strokes. She left him with a mixture of oats and grain for a treat, and filled his trough with cool, clear water.

The Vampire Slayer went down the aisle, and found a mare who was part Percheron, from her dapple-grey coat and imposing size. She had intelegent eyes, perfect conformation, and the crest, profile, and high-set tail of an Arabian. Buffy's eyebrows went up, having never seen an Arabian hybrid of such size before. When the former Princess of Ithilien brought her hand close to the Arab-Percheron mare, the horse nearly squashed it against the stable door by leaning against it. She passed the mare on, figuring the dappled silvery horse was too tall for her. A few stalls down was a black mare, small and sturdy. She looked to be a senseble American Quarter Horse, maybe with a bit of Thoroughbred in her. Buffy ran her hands over the black horse's hide, finding it silky smooth. The mare was very sweet-tempered, and sniffed her pockets for a treat. Not finding one, she was content to lean her jaw on Buffy's shoulder. The Vampire Slayer quickly named her Léofa, which meant Beloved in Rohirric before tacking her up and taking her outside and through her paces. Léofa proved to be capable and intelegent, as well as fast and had the jackrabbit acceleration common to quarter horses.

After working through her paces, Buffy groomed Léofa and gave her a ration of grain mixed with a little bit of molasas and some brown sugar before heading off for her evening patrol.

* * *

_**Celebwen Telcontar: What do you think?**_

_**Balrog: Interesting. Will this turn into another Crossover?**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: I doubt it, unless Tiamat and Lilith pester me about it.**_

_**Balrog: It would be interesting to see Tiamat's colt in this story.**_

_**Celebwen Telcontar: Don't hold your breath. Please review, people!**_


End file.
